


To Boldly Go

by Beeblebrox-For-President (unfortunately7)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Aliens, Captivity, Concussions, Minor Injuries, Minor Violence, Other, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 01:04:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfortunately7/pseuds/Beeblebrox-For-President
Summary: It wasn't supposed to end this way...
Relationships: Spock/Reader
Comments: 15
Kudos: 57





	To Boldly Go

You were never one for feats of bravery or strength, nor were you keen on people, but seeing your crew-members falling one by one to the hostile residents of this planet brought out something in you that had previously gone unrevealed.

Something had felt off when the landing party had beamed down, but you brushed it off as nothing more than pre-mission jitters. You had been on plenty as the Xenobotany Officer, but each one brought on a bit of fear, fear of the unknown. This, you assumed, was no different.

Perhaps it was the terrain that had thrown you off, or possibly the heavy silence that weighed heavily over the land. You said nothing of your uneasy feeling and followed the others wordlessly.

Scanners had shown that there was a village in a crater-like formation roughly a meter away from where the landing party departed. The ground was too rocky to beam any closer, lest someone materialize and immediately slip and become injured. Nor could you take the risk of beaming directly into the crater-village. They had not yet reached a level of technology advanced enough to obtain contact with passing ships, so it was unknown whether they were hostile or friendly.

The trek was long and hot, the dual suns blazing down from overhead. They were each smaller than the Terran sun, but combined they made a formidable heat. First Officer Spock seemed unbothered by the blaze. You supposed it was somewhat similar to his home planet's sun. 

The planet was relatively devoid of plant-life, much to your disappointment. Only a few scrubby patches of something similar to reindeer-moss dotted the crevices in the massive stones of the planet's surface. It was dry and brittle, storing little water. This was odd for a plant in an arid environment. You made mental note of the phenomenon.

You took a few samples along the way, noting where each one was from with small labels affixed to the containers they were in. You were drawing closer to the crater-village, and you wondered wether or not they had any sort of crops or if they used the brittle moss for anything.

The suns grew hotter as the landing party continued onward, scuffling over rocks and pockets of sand. The landscape seemed bleached-white in the bright light, rocks faded and pale from millennia of exposure. The terrain grew notably more jagged as you neared the crater, and the rocks less washed-out in appearance. It was evident that whatever had created the crater had unearthed and flung stone in every surrounding direction. 

Finally the group was within thirty yards of the crater edge. Spock spoke quietly, warning everyone once more that the residents of the village had never, to your knowledge, been contacted so their reaction would be unknown. You could hear commotion, bustling in the crater, sounds of a lively community.

The group fanned out, keeping close enough together to see each-other, but far enough apart to make targeting harder should the people be hostile. The edge of the crater was worn in some places, evident of pathways in-and-out, but cliff-like in others. From there, the residents of the village became visible.

They seemed reptilian in nature, all of light colouration ranging from pale greens too deep yellows. Their face were reminiscent of Terran water-monitor lizards, thought the muzzles were shorter. They seemed energized in the light, unhindered by the heat. Perhaps in this, too, they stuck true to their reptilian appearance, soaked in the sun to warm their cold blood. 

The village, oddly enough, seemed to not be above ground inside the crater, but rather beneath it. Tunnels led into the rock below to what was presumably the housing quarters. The above appeared to be a market of sorts, littered with varying goods ranging from exotic vegetables to earthenware pots and jugs. Each stand seemed rather unstable, and most were no more than a rug laid out over the ground. There were scuff marks on the ground which couldn’t be explained, as the steps of the reptilian creatures weren’t hurried in the least.

The landing party eased down to a worn pathway, Spock taking the lead. A headstrong red-shirt Ensign moved past him onto a steeper part of the slope. Spock called out, a harsh whisper, reaching out towards the Ensign as though to take hold of his shirt-collar. Before he could make contact, the boy slipped, tumbling down the slope, sending rocks scattering and falling. Immediately, the villagers took notice.

For several tense moments, everything was silent. Then, they leapt.

It seemed that the reptilian people had exceedingly strong legs, capable of rapid movement. Their claws dug into the slope, within several bounds, they had scaled the steep path, descending on you in a mad rush. One leapt upon the fallen Ensign, talons snapping ribs and effectively gutting him. He spasmed once, then lay still, dead.

All around you, people were falling to the apparently-hostile creatures. You felt frozen in place, the brutality of the moment passing over you in a wave. Finally you snapped out of your daze, grabbing a chunk of rock just large enough to be used as a crude weapon.

You had gone unnoticed by the villagers so far, almost as though they could not see what wasn’t moving. That anonymity was destroyed as you darted into the fray, fiercely defending a fallen comrade who lay injured. The villagers were rather short, but well-muscled. Swinging your weaponized stone downwards as the attacking party charged you, you landed a sharp blow to its head.

The rock gouged through, peeling away several plate-like scales and tearing through the delicate skin beneath. The creature jumped back, startled, blood dripping down its muzzle and onto the dirt. All around you, members of the crew were falling. Your heart gave a slight jump, an odd occurrence, as you realized that you had lost sight of the First Officer in the fray. You were torn away from the worry, however, as the wounded villager jumped at you again, knocking you back.

With a grunt, you hit a rock, the back of your heading smacking against it. You heard a shout in the distance, and you struggled to your feet. Everything around you was blurred, images swirling disjointedly. You felt blood trickling down your scalp and the back of your neck. The reptilian person was advancing slowly, and you raised you hands to defend yourself, your heart dropping as you realized you had lost your weapon-stone. You blinked rapidly, your sight showing multiples of the advancing creature before fading entirely into fuzzy blackness.

You awake slowly, as though you had to fight for consciousness. At first, you cannot recall what had happened, unaware of where you were. Eyes unopened, you assumed you had fallen out of bed. A sharp pain in the back of your skull told you otherwise. Finally, after several minutes of struggle, you forced your eyes open, greeted by the sight of stone.

It seemed you were in a cell of sorts, a rounded chamber carved in solid rock with a thick metal-barred door on one side. Dragging yourself up off the floor, you managed to prop yourself against the wall, wincing as you rested your head against it. You could feel the tacky sensation of dried, congealed blood in your hair. 

While you had obviously been rendered unconscious by your head-injury, it was unclear why your cell-mate was sprawled across the floor. He seemed to have no visible injuries, save for a small mark on his neck and a few green bruises on his knuckles. Perhaps they had tranquilized him.

You wanted to move towards him to see if you could shake him awake, but everything was so heavy, so tiring. Even breathing was a chore. Finally you succumbed to the darkness edging your eyesight and fell out once more.

This time, waking was slightly easier. A voice, low and familiar, urged you out of the depths of your dreamless sleep, somewhat urgent in tone. Your eyes opened slowly, the First Officer’s face coming into view in the dim light. You shifted where you lay, trying to sit up, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“You must stay still. I believe you have sustained a concussion. Movement is unwise.” He seems to be examining your pupils.

You give a quiet grunt, offering a slightly-sarcastic reply. “You’re a science officer, not a doctor,” you counter, mirroring the CMO’s frequent comments on what he is and is not. You’re surprised by how slurred your speech is. 

He frowns, though he doesn’t comment on your statement. You suspect he’s heard Bones’ remarks enough to recognize your joke. After several silent moments of avoiding eye-contact as he studies your face with his normal stoic expression, he urges you to sit up.

You are forced to lean against the wall for support as a wave of dizziness washes over you. Your back is to Spock, and with a light touch he moves your hair enough to examine the wound caused by your fall. You wince.  
“There is a jug of water by the door and a cloth. I am going to attempt to wash your wound,” he states firmly. You nod, eyes shut. Everything seems to swim when your eyes are open.

Dipping the cloth into the water and then wringing it out, he dampens it enough to clean but not soak you with the runoff. You bite back a sharp yelp as he brushes it over the wound. He focuses on that area first, his large hands surprisingly nimble and gentle as he works. After the wound is cleaned, he wipes away the dried blood from your hair and neck as thoroughly as he could.

He returned the cloth to its former place by the cell door, but kept the jug of water close. “It would be wise to stay hydrated. Neither of us are ill, or have any transmittable diseases, so using the same drinking vessel will not be a health hazard.” The idea of sharing the jug like that makes you a bit uncomfortable, and you can tell from the comical expression on the Vulcan’s face (that he is quite obviously trying to mask) that he shares the same reservation. You shrug.

“I’m fine. Hopefully Kirk will figure out something is amiss soon. I’m assuming your transmitter isn’t functioning?” You say with a slight sigh. Spock nods.

“It was broken in the skirmish. Given the proper tools, I could repair it, but those are unavailable.” He shows you the busted communicator. You glance over it briefly, agreeing with his assessment. Your turn your attention to the bars of the cell.

“I’d say steel, but from what I’ve seen, I don’t think they have the technology to process that,” you observe. The metal is strong, and even with Spock’s Vulcan musculature, bending the thick bars would be impossible. The lock is located well outside the cell. You could possibly maneuver your hand to it, but with nothing to pick the lock with, that would be a futile task.

Another wave of dizziness washes over you as you move back to your place against the wall. You rub your forehead, paling. Spock frowns. “Even if we were to open the cell, you would not be able to move at a sufficient pace to escape,” he states grimly. You sigh, but agree.

“But you could,” you say, shrugging, “Perhaps we could use part of the transmitter to pick the lock. You could get out at least.” 

Spock shakes his head. “No, leaving a crew-member behind is not an option.”

His statement brings a grim thought to your mind. “Speaking of crew-members, are there any other survivors,” you ask, not really wanting to know. You can tell by the dimness in Spock’s eyes that the answer isn’t good.

“Not to my knowledge. After you fell unconscious, the last crewman was dispatched and I was taken captive. I do not recall anything after that.” He gazes towards the door. The hall outside is dark, but you can feel warmth wafting through in soft gusts. “I believe it has been no more than 2.3 hours since the attack. Based on this planet’s orbital pattern and size, we have approximately 4.7 hours until nightfall.”  
You nod. Hopefully, you thought, you’d be out of there by then. 

Time dragged by slowly. There was little to say, and nothing to do. You wanted to make conversation, if only to pass the time, but had no clue what to say. You had conversations with Spock before, but this was something else entirely, being stuck in a small room with no option to leave.

Perhaps you were thinking too much. Spock was your friend, wait, friend? Did you really consider him a friend? Yes, a friend, you decided. A close friend. Closer than McCoy or Jim or Scotty or Uhura. But why? If anything, your relationship with him was the most professional out of all of your other relationships amongst the crew. Perhaps that made you more comfortable, as glued to your work as you were.

Footsteps in the hallway broke you out of your meandering thoughts. A dim light grew as the footsteps drew nearer. You and Spock tensed, ready to fight or flee given the situations. A reptilian face came into view, dashing any hope of rescue. The reptile bore a gash over its eye which appeared to have been crudely stitched closed.

The one you had attacked, oh joy. This should be interesting.

It gave a low hiss, followed by a series of quiet grunts. Its tongue flickered in and out, possibly gathering scent like a snake. It stared at the two of you expectantly. It was evidently trying to communicate. After several moments of silence, it gave up, giving one last harsh hiss and leaning back against the wall opposite to your cell. 

It watched you quietly, maintaining eye contact. Its pupils were slitted, eyes bright and shining in the dim glow of the lantern it had brought and hung from a hook on the wall adjacent. It definitely was more focused on you than the First Officer. 

“Pretty sure I ticked him off,” you muttered. Spock raised one eyebrow and then nodded in agreement as the lizard-person gave a guttural snarl as you spoke.

“It would seem so.”

An hour crawled by, during which you determined only one thing, other than the fact that the lizard-person hated you. Experimentally, you held still for long periods of time, punctuating them with sharp movements. You were fairly certain Spock thought you insane, but you had confirmed your theory from earlier. With each period of stillness, the lizard’s eyes would wander, pupils dilating lazily and becoming unfocused.

When you moved, it refocused. Of course, any creature would exhibit such behavior, however, it almost seemed confused or perplexed with each cycle. After confirming your theory by throwing a pebble and watching the lizard searching the floor without finding it though it was right in front of its nose, you murmured your findings softly to Spock.

“They can’t see what isn’t actively moving. Or rather, they can’t focus on it. Either way, it could be used to your advantage if you do try to escape.”  
“I do not intend to leave a crew-member behind, Officer (Y/L/N), as I stated before. We will wait for the Captain unless the situation becomes dire,” he stated decisively. You narrowed your eyes, irritated.

“That is an illogical action, to put it into familiar terms,” you whisper harshly. “Should the guard leave, we would both have much better chances of survival if one of us, namely you considering I can’t even stand, escaped and went to get help.” Spock seemed taken aback by your words.

“It may be illogical, but isn’t also logically flawed to leave you behind only to possibly be caught and killed?” He seemed irritated, though he concealed it much better than you. “Or to leave you without assistance should you have a medical crisis? I am no doctor, but I am aware of the proper way to treat someone in medical distress.”

You rolled your eyes lightly, exasperated. “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, you’ve said as much yourself in times past. The Enterprise has more need for a First Officer than a Xenobotanist.”

You were really getting to him now. Even in the most heated disagreements with Jim in the midst of true crisis never sparked this amount of emotion in his eyes. What in the world…? He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak, you interrupted him, noticing something.

“Look, the guard,” you exclaimed. The lizard-person was crouched by the wall unmoving, only the slight rise and fall of its chest giving evidence that it was still alive. Its eyes were half-closed and had a glassy look to them. You waved your hand, but it didn’t blink or move. “Is it… asleep?”

Spock’s head whipped around quickly at your initial exclamation. He raised one eyebrow, staring quizzically at the creature. “I believe it has.” He paused, thinking. “The temperature has dropped significantly. It must be nightfall.”

You thought for a moment. He was right, the temperature had dropped. Whereas before it had been scorching hot, even underground as you were, it was now mild, almost pleasant, borderline on chilly.

“Perhaps they’re reptilian in their metabolism, not just appearance. The colder temperature has caused it to slow down, effectively sleeping,” you murmured, fascinated. “Terran reptiles do the same thing.” Ignoring the pain in your head and the dizziness, you moved close the cell door, reaching your arm between the bars and waving your hand in the lizard-person’s face. It did nothing. You turned back to Spock.

“This is your chance. Hand me the communicator antenna so I can pick the lock.” 

Spock frowned, obviously unhappy at your blatant disregard for his earlier argument. He gave a short, nearly inaudible sigh and handed over the antenna. You turned, leaning against the bars of the cell for support and reached around. You couldn’t see the locking mechanism, but you could feel it. 

The antenna clicked into place, but it felt too thin to do any good. You twisted and turned it, eventually removing it and handing it back to Spock, You edged out of the way, careful to keep your back against the wall for support as blackness edged at your vision with the movement.

He took your place, reaching his arm out and trying to unleash the lock. Several minutes went by. Once, there was an audible click, both of you holding your breath in anticipation, but nothing happened. Five minutes. Ten. Fifteen.

Nothing.

Spock retracted his arm, face unreadable. “The antenna broke. We have no choice now.” You wondered if he did it on purpose. You considered cracking a joke about that, but decided against it. No need to irritate him considering you were truly stuck now. Spock leaned back against the wall.

“It is roughly 1.3 hours after the approximated sunset. The Captain will likely attempt a rescue in the morning when visibility is better. We must wait.”

And so you waited.

It was getting cold. Frigid, even. You were shivering, arms wrapped tightly around your body, knees pulled to your chest. Spock was in similar shape, though his shivering was much less pronounced.

“This is just a guess as you would call it, but I believe the temperature will soon drop below the freezing point of water,” he said, voice strained.

Your lips are pressed in a grim, hard line. You know your fair share of medical stuff. Even if the temperature stabilizes before it hits freezing, your body still wouldn’t be able to cope. Soon, your body would begin to shut down. At least in the end you wouldn’t feel the cold. You’d feel warm as you freeze to death.

You turn your grim thoughts into a bitter laugh. “Well, the plants make a lot more sense now.” Spock turns his head towards you, questioning. “They’re similar to Terran reindeer-moss. Most desert plants are succulents, holding water for long periods of time.” 

Hands trembling, you unfold yourself and reach into your pocket, removing a sample tube containing a fragment of the stiff, dry plant. You open it with difficulty, the numbness in your fingers making it hard to unscrew the lid, and empty it into your hand. You give it to Spock. “Very little water c-content, won’t be damaged by ice crystals when the temperature drops each night.”

Spock turns the tiny bit of green in his hand, examining it. His hands are shaking harder now. The temperature is plummeting. Your organs will begin to shut down soon, unable to compensate for the cold. You slump back against the wall.

He begins to speak, but you don’t hear him, not really. You’re so tired. The cold is like a heavy weight over your whole body.

A warm hand, well, warm compared to yours, pressed against your shoulder. Someone is shaking you. Your eyes have slipped shut. It’s probably Spock. Maybe not. You can’t seem to find it in you to care. 

A warmth envelops you. 

This is death, you think. This is what freezing to death is like.

It’s nice.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to leave a comment, I love feedback!


End file.
